A Little Missing Part

It was around 10:00 PM.Phoenix was asleep.  Laundry in the washer.  Dishes sitting in the sink.  Food in my belly.  And a paintbrush in my hand.
Yes, a paintbrush I said.
I finally had enough.  It's been way too long--and ever since my little guy was born my heart has been longing to paint again.
All through my pregnancy all I wanted to do was write.  So I did.I wrote a lot--and barely painted.  
Well that's not totally true. I played in my sketchbook,  made mandalas (that I'm still working on still!), and dove into a little Art Journaling for 21 SECRETS.  But that's it.
I just didn't actually paint paint.  (You know what I mean.)



That all changed this week when I put a canvas on my easel, paint on a palette, and turned on the lights in my studio.  I probably should have went to bed--but screw it.  
I need this.  I need to paint.
At first one of my usual "faces" started to appear--but it didn't feel right. It felt forced.....trite...expected.
So I stood up, grabbed a bigger brush, and just started slapping paint on it with some freaking boldness and energy.  
I painted like I was the last painter alive!
And guess what happened?  The ol' pod's came back again!!
Or maybe a part of myself came back again.
Yeah, I think that's it.